Break Free
by mpj213
Summary: Pushing that skeleton to the back of your closet may work for now, but one day those bones will want to come out and play.
1. Chapter 1

Damon's head swam as he sat up, the alleyway around him spinning like a top. What happened? Tiny flashes ran through his mind, but none of them made sense. Getting to his feet, he looked around, the sick feeling that something was wrong filling his gut.

_Elena._

That's what had happened. His heartbeat was in his ears, each one like another slam against the side of his head as he turned. And it only worsened when he started to call her name.

"Elena!" The words rang like echos along the red brick walls of the alley. He started to turn to go back towards the walkway to look for her, but the water drenching his clothes made it twice as hard to move. As his eyes adjusted to the dark around him, his stomach sank. That couldn't be what had happened. Could it? She would have answered him by now.

"Elena! Babe!" Oh but it was. God, he'd really fucked up. He should've known better. Panic surged through his veins. He was kicking himself, repeatedly. How could he? How could he jeopardize her so willingly? How could he let this happen to her? He flung a trail of water as he pitched a fist against the wall next to him. As he looked down, he could see against the wall, slouched over and just as wet as he was, was Elena's bright-colored purse. "Please have your phone," he prayed to the absent Elena. As he slowly gained his equilibrium, he rambled past tubes of lipstick, old receipts, and folded pieces of magazines she'd stowed away for her dreambook in search of her phone. It couldn't be that hard to find; semi-small, but archaic. It was the one that couldn't be destroyed. She was so attached to her old clunker, he couldn't believe she didn't have it with her. Suddenly the sharp sound of a polyphonic ring tone began.

"God damn it," fell from his lips as he yanked Old Betsy from the bottom of the bag, hitting the answer key. The green screen lit up. It was a wonder it worked with all the water it was in.

"Lena?" It was all could think. Maybe she'd gotten away from them. Maybe she was calling from one of the last phone booths left in New York to tell him she was okay. Fuck. It'd be better if this was all some nightmare. But the voice that answered on the other end of the line was all too real. It verified his fear and absolutely turned his world upside-down.

"You have two days, Damon. And I'm being nice." Klaus' voice was menacing, obviously trying to get his point across. He'd been after him for weeks, and Damon had paid what he could, but obviously it wasn't cutting it.

"Where is she? Let me talk to her. Please," Damon begged. God. Don't let them do anything. Not like he threatened. He'd do it, he knew. He didn't ever hesitate. But then he heard her in the background. He must have been on the speakerphone.

"Damon?" Her voice was quiet. There was no emotion. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't fighting. She was scared out of her wits. Her almost hoarse sound said it all. The two small syllables torpedoed into his heart. He could see her there, brown eyes wide, making her look so vulnerable. He never meant for this to happen. He had just wanted to help his family.

"I'm coming to get you, Elena," he said sternly, anger starting to rile him up like an adrenaline surge when Klaus' voice again sounded through the earpiece.

"You give me my money and you can have her. It's that simple."

"Where do I bring it? I'll get it."

"The same place you got it from. Didn't mommy teach you how to put things away? Right back where you got them from?" Klaus gave a laugh at his own joke.

"I'll get your damn money. Just don't hurt her," Damon spat in return. Klaus gave a meditative "hmm". It stuck his nerves like needles.

"Fine. But after two days, I'll make her work off your debt." He didn't even want to think what that meant. "Goodbye, Damon." And the line fell dead.


	2. Chapter 2

The pungent memory of cigars and chewing tobacco filled Damon's head as he moved down the flooding sidewalk. It was a horrible odor, one he wouldn't forget. It'd been so strong as he walked through the door of the warehouse that cold night in October, it'd all but knocked him to the ground. A man Damon had known for years put his name out for him. Klaus Mikaelson. Son of the infamous whorehouse runners Esther and Mikael. He had his own side of loan sharking, something Damon knew was a risk to consider, but with his money ties lately, it was one he was damn desperate to take. "All you have to do," Mason told him, "is go inside, and ask for Klaus. They'll take you straight to him." Damon had stared into his cup of crappy coffee from the break room, knowing he would never get away with that with Elena. But with his minimum wage pay for stocking cans to a grocery store shelf, he was barely getting the power bill paid.

"Somethin' I can do yous for?" A pudgy man with thin lips and a put-on authoritative tone rose from a lawn chair in the corner. He was not as tall as, but he was close to Damon's height. It was no question this man hailed from Boston. He flicked his cigarette onto a pile of black sand as he saw Damon slip in.

"I'm here to see Klaus." And just like Mason had said, the man waved a hand just as fluffy as the rest of him at a door on the adjacent wall. A light shone through the translucent window, making Damon stop just a moment and recount what he was about to do. But he was sick of struggling so much. He rapped his knuckles on the door then pushed it open. The man at the aluminum desk gave a smile that told him he'd probably regret taking his cash.

"Hello, there. What's your name, mate?" Klaus stuck out a hand in proffer of a friendly introductory handshake. Damon shook it firmly.

"Damon Salvatore."

"Klaus Mikaelson. How much can I do you for?" He just cut to the chase. No sucking up needed here.

"Six." He looked shocked.

"Is that all?" Damon nodded. Anymore would be over his head. He wanted to get in, get his head above water, and get out. Klaus pulled open a drawer and shuffled through it a little, pulling out an envelope and stuffing the sixty one-hundred dollar bills into it.

"You must be pretty bad off if you come to me for such a small amount," he spoke lowly, carefully tucking the paper sheath closed. He left it lying on the chipping desktop, turning his attention to his debtor.

"I lost my job. Demoted, socially." He wasn't comfortable fanning his business to a stranger, but what he knew about him could possibly gain him leniency when it came time to repay. God knows how he'd do that.

"A few things to be understood before you leave this place. When you leave, this money doesn't belong to you. It belongs to me. It is a loan, not a fortune. It seems the last couple of my clients failed to remember that. I don't want you to be one of them. You seem a decent fellow. This can be an easy process should you help me."

"I'll repay it as I can. Not all at once, but I will."

"Can I expect it back before...hm. Say...July. I'll be nice." That date was impossible.

"July? That's nine months."

"Nine months to use it wisely."

"A year." Surely in that amount of time he could get back into an advertising firm like before. A cubicle job paid him more than his can-hugger job he had now.

"You must have a shitty job, mate," Klaus chortled, marking something down in a book he'd flipped out of his pocket. "One year."

"Thank you." Damon took the money, but he held it like a ticking bomb, tucking it into his jacket.

"I'll hear from you in a year." He unlatched the door, gesturing Damon to leave with a smile. He seemed pleased to know that he loomed on someone's conscious all the time, that he was such a powerful figure. Damon didn't hesitate. He gave a last nod and went back out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

"We have to let you go, Damon. I'm sorry."

Damon stared at the piece of paper that was pushed towards him, then to the regretful eyes of his boss. His day had gone from wonderful to worse in a matter of minutes. Alaric, his head, had called him in. And it wasn't like Ric never called him into his office. It was just when he got the note passed from Ric's secretary to his, even Vicki was passing off an aura that was no good. Now he was sitting with a pink slip, written with the date of the last paycheck he'd receive, his termination date, and reason of termination.

"What? _Let me go?_ I've been at this company since the day I left college, Ric! You can't be serious!" Damon spat, sliding it back over the glass top as if it were a crap offer on a deal. Across the desk, Ric shook his head, a rueful look plastered all over his round face.

"I'm sorry, Damon. They need the interns to push small jobs, so they're cutting back on the highest paid." Ric had said "they" intentionally. He didn't want to ditch him. It wasn't his choice. With the sorrowful look Ric passed from his gray eyes to Damon's blue ones, Damon could tell that he was doing this only because he had to. But it was still a shock. "I would've cut some of those penny-munchers if I could've." Damon gave a nod of understanding as he picked up the damning slip from the glasstop desk. Wedging it into his jacket breast pocket, he carefully denied the urge to rip the paneling off the walls in absolute fustration. What the fuck was he going to tell Elena?

"Give Jenna and the kids my best, would you?" he forced a smile. Ric just nodded.

"Sure, man."

The walk back to his office was the longest it'd ever been. Damon felt like ten-thousand eyes were following each step he took, but in fact there were only one pair of emeralds that watched as he passed. As he went into his office for one of the last times, he gave a taut tug of the string, making the series of roman shades fall in one zip to cover the glass wall of his office and darken the room. Sinking into his plush chair, he started to coach himself. There were other agencies. He had such credibility, they couldn't turn him down. He'd been working nonstop since he'd gotten a diploma. That was credible, right? He'd go apply to the next one tomorrow. They'd never refuse. Just as he poured up a healthy dose of bourbon from the decanter nearby, the squeak of his office door stretched through the silence. He really needed to get maintenance on that. Or did. Didn't matter much anymore.

"Everything alright? You're drinking before ten. That's not usually a good sign." Damon stared at his brother for a long minute. He'd gotten Stefan into this company just a fraction after he had. Damon had climbed the ladder of this company like a machine until he was where he was, and when he'd barely gotten his name on the door of his office, he was putting in word for Stefan. They'd both graduated at the top, succeeded like nothing ever seen. And how the company was tossing him out like trash over interns, he didn't know. Carefully dislodging the slip from his jacket, he flicked it onto the desk. Stefan squinted at it from afar, but then his thick brows rose in alarm. There was no way. He'd heard about lay-offs, but he never figured it'd be in this division.

"Is this a joke?" Damon threw up his hands, splashing a little bit of the honey-colored liquid onto the carpet. Good. They could pay the guy to fix the door and his carpet. He never said a word.

"You've worked here ̶"

"A decade. I know," he snapped, irritated as hell.

"What're you going to tell Elena?" He shook his head.

"Nothing. I'm going to the firm down the street and apply. I'll get a job. She won't have to worry." Stefan just stared as his brother began to dump a box of files into the bin and drop his personal things in in place of them.

"You can't not tell her. She'll kill you."

"She's already stressing about her job. If I tell her this, it'll only make it worse. If I can fix it, why worry her until I do?" Stefan knew it was lying, but it wasn't his business to tell his brother what to do. And in his irated state, it'd only piss him off. So he nodded, and turned to leave the room.

"If you need anything, brother, you know where I am."

The months after were a quick decline. The economy was just a giant bust. No one was hiring. After refusals from each company in New York, Damon had to drop his penthouse suite apartment and rent one in a lower social class neighborhood. He sold his car and Elena's too, and began taking the transit bus to his new job. Elena had taken up a job as a gas attendant in the ghetto outskirts of the city, never giving up on putting in for teacher job after teacher job. She, too, never got any calls back. The gas attendant job she was working wasn't her dream job, of course. She'd spent the past years of her life working towards a teaching degree. And after she'd graduated, that was it. She was sitting, waiting, wishing. Damon told her the right job would come along, but one night he'd come home and found her truly disheartened. It was burned into the back of mind. It'd been a long day, one before he lost his job. When he'd gone into their bedroom, the lights were dimmed. He'd had to squint to see her in the bed. Her back was to the door. She didn't even move.

"Elena?" She felt him sit on the bed beside her and she closed her eyes, trying to stay the strong Elena she knew he admired so much. After sucking up her sobbing, she turned over, blinking up at him and offering a small smile.

"How was your day, handsome?" But Damon saw tear tracks glistening on her cheeks in the hallway's light. A smile played some on her husband's lips, but quickly faded as he met her big brown eyes, still watery despite her well-played facade. Damon picked up the dampened cotton handkerchief from her pillow. She looked away as he brushed her cheek. He could read everything on her.

"It'll be okay, babe." His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek as he propped himself on his elbow. Elena blinked a few times.

"I just feel like I wasted my time, Damon," she swallowed, letting her eyes fall to the loosened collar of his shirt.

"You didn't waste your time. You got an education."

"Yeah, but I worked my ass off for four years because I just _knew _I had it. I could get this and do just like Mom." A staggered sob slipped her lips and Damon placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up to make her gaze meet his. Elena's mother was a subject she rarely brought up. Her memories of her were laced with a mixture of sweet and sour, from the immense love she had for her and her brother to the bitter end of her marriage to her stepfather. The latter was what made her so upset. Damon gazed into those brown pools set in Elena's skull, practically watching them swim.

"You didn't do it for nothing. You're a smart, beautiful woman. And the right job for you will come along," he almost whispered, his thumb brushing along the length of her jaw.

"I feel like a moocher because I don't work," she mumbled, starting to push his hand away.

"You're not a moocher. You're my wife. I support you. I'm perfectly okay with that." She shook her head.

"But I'm not. I want to help."

A month later, Damon lost his job. In a matter of four more, the wealthy bank account he'd had for so long depleted to where it barely had over a few hundred in it at a time. Damon picked up his grocery stocking job. Elena began working as a cashier at a gas station in one of the grimiest parts of the city. She was too good to be subject to the rats that crawled about that section of New York, but it wasn't up to be debated on where she could work. A paycheck was a paycheck, and damn near every buck was spent before it was earned. Damon was constantly searching for a place to work, hoping to happen upon a better place. And for nearly seven months it didn't happen. Damon was close to giving up, to accepting his demotion in society, until his brother phoned him a little less than week earlier. He had been transferred to a new company and they needed workers. He'd set up an interview for him that next day.

Damon would never forget the feeling he had. Two ton weights fell from his shoulders with that one phone call. He couldn't thank Stefan enough. Albeit he didn't have the job, he had a strong feeling that soon he would. They'd be okay. Just like he knew they would. Damon was foaming at the mouth with excitement, but he didn't tell Elena. That night he'd pulled his best shoes from beneath the bed and polished them, keeping his face as solemn as it would be any other day. It took almost all he had. Elena kept prodding him, asking him what was up, but he only shrugged.

"I miss them is all," he'd said. She gave a slight frown and curled into the covers behind him without another word. The next day, he left before she even got out of bed. For the first time in ages, he was in his own shoes again. He'd fixed his hair, dabbed his cologne, and bought himself a cup of coffee from somewhere besides the Quik-E-Mart by the grocery store. Espresso and milk with a teaspoon of sugar. He was almost stuck in nostalgia as the smell met his nostrils.

And today, he got the call. The call he knew he would get.

"If you can come in Monday, Mr. Salvatore, we'll be glad to have you join the firm."

He was grinning ear to ear. Elena could drop her job. That's all he could think. She could start looking for the one she really wanted. The one she deserved. In all-consumed excitement, Damon had called and booked a reservation for Elena's favorite restaurant in the city. When he got home, he presented her with a bouquet of the sweetest smelling roses she'd ever seen.

"What's the occasion? Our anniversary isn't until next month." She smiled, burying her nose in the peachy-colored blooms.

"I have a surprise for you. For us. Dress in something nice. We're going to Rue Sha." She blinked. That was one of the expensive eateries of the city. It was no way in their budget.

"Damon...Rue Sha? Are you crazy?"

"You deserve a treat," he nodded, pulling open the tiny closet on her side of the room. He picked up one of the last pair of her fancy shoes he'd bought her, swinging them on his finger.

"How about you wear these?" The grin he gave her was way too contagious. She grinned back, the thought of leaving the house for something other than a cash register making her giddy as hell. This was exactly what they needed, and it was kind of perfect timing. And the shoes Damon hung before her were her absolute faves: A pair of swing-back, red leather Christian Louboutin peep-toes. Oh how she'd missed them.

"Fine," she smiled. "I'll be ready in an hour."


	4. Chapter 4

Four days passed, but Damon wasn't able to come up with enough money. He'd tried to pull a loan, but he already owed on a previous one. He had almost considered hocking his wedding ring, but when he looked down to it, he couldn't imagine it not being there. Elena had placed it there with shaky nervous hands seven years ago and it hadn't been off since. A day without it, he'd be lost. And to add to it, Elena would have shot him for even thinking of it, despite his desperate situation. Two sleepless nights had passed, both of them spent tallying his bank account, even trying to dip into Elena's small savings account, but it still wasn't enough. Barely a fourth. Klaus would never accept it. And now, he was at his last resort, standing in front of the brownstone house that belonged to his brother. He was drenched to the bone, the rain still heavy from the two nights ago when Elena was taken. He rang the bell, then knocked for good measure. Some voice came from inside, but it was near impossible to hear above the rain and churning thunder. A moment later, the door opened and Katherine stood in the entrance, her brows knitted together.

"Don't you know what an umbrella is?" She asked monotonously, plucking the wet material of his sleeve as he sloshed inside. "It keeps this from happening."

"I wasn't thinking when I left," Damon mumbled. Without thinking, he wrung out the hem of his shirt, sending a small cascade of water to the rug he stood on. It landed with a squishy thud. Katherine shook her dark head, smiling just slightly.

"Strip. I'll be back in a minute."

"Kat, don't," Damon jumped. "I just want to ask you and Stefan for a favor. I'll be here five minutes then out of your hair." She was already halfway up the stairs. She turned and glared. Damon swallowed, her eyes piercing as if she were daring him to do otherwise. Damon cowered inside, knowing he'd messed up already. He motioned down the hall where he knew the half-bath was, giving her an apologetic look.

"Can't I at least go to the bathroom to?" That only made it worse. Katherine's neat freak side was engaged, and she had nothing on her mind but getting the floor beneath him swept and dried. He knew the water on the rug was driving her nuts as it was. What a stupid question.

"You _are not _tracking water all over my clean floor," she snapped. "Now drop 'em and I'll be back in a minute." She looked down to Damon from the staircase, brow raised as if to challenge him to defy her. She knew he knew better than to and, to her satisfaction, he sighed, dropping his shirt at his feet. With a pleased smile, Kat turned on her heel and went upstairs.

Damon shook his head at himself for being still so lenient with Katherine. Their relationship had ended fifteen years ago. They were best friends more than lovers, though they had spent almost two years as a pair before finally urging her to move on. He'd met her at a statewide school assembly. She sat in the seat next to him and he swore she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. She was sometimes crass, but always honest. And sharp as a tack. After a couple of months, Damon brought her home to meet his father and brother. She was in awe of the beauty of his home, but even more-so of Stefan. It was an ultimate downfall. A slow spiral. Damon watched as Kat kept falling more and more for Stefan. Secret meetings, flirty looks; This went on for nearly a year until finally, Damon sat her down. She admitted to Damon she never really loved him. She loved their friendship. It hit him hard; he loved her. But he withstood. It was what he was expecting. The way she smiled at Stefan, looked at him. The way her face lit up when his name was merely mentioned; it was no question she was in love with him. And Damon wouldn't hold her back from going after what she wanted. He made her go. And while his feelings for Katherine had faded, he still saw her as his best friend. That would be something that would never change.

Standing in the doorway, he waited in almost utter silence for her to return. The only sound was the rain pattering on the glass pane in the dining room and the occasional low roll of thunder. His jeans sagged on his hips, all but falling off. He glanced at his watch. Thank God it was waterproof. It was nearing five-thirty. Stefan'd be home soon.

"Hurry up, Kat!" he called up the stairs. She never responded. Damn it. What was she doing? Matching the cloth weave? Before he could think about possibly going upstairs to find her, the door behind him cracked open and his brother stepped in. Stefan stepped into the entryway, setting a brown bag of groceries on the hall caddy next to him. When he saw Damon holding onto his pants and shirtless and drenched to the bone, he rose a brow.

"Is there a reason you're half-naked in my foyer, brother?"

"Your wife."

"Not a good answer." Damon rolled his eyes, just as he heard the sound of stilettos clacking on the wood floor above them.

"I found some!" Katherine sang a little, then her voice fell a few octaves. "I swear, if Stefan would just clean up that damn-" She cut off as her husband cleared his throat, freezing halfway back down the staircase. Her eyes darted from the neatly folded clothes in her arms to Stefan, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and a sardonic smile plastered across his face.

"Hello to you too, angel."

"Oh! Hey, baby!" She smiled widely and almost nervously, trying to cover up her nagging with a sweet peck on the cheek as she finally made her landing. "Your brother is here." She shoved the pile of clothes into Damon's arms.

"I noticed," he laughed a bit, unable to hide his amusement with her nonchalant attitude. "When you're dressed, Damon, come and sit a spell."

Once Damon was dressed again in dry garments, he joined Kat and his brother in the living room. She had catered three cups of black coffee that filled the air with its hearty aroma. Stefan dosed them up with shots of whiskey from his collection and made it even more enticing. Every part of the house, Damon had decided from his trips here, was all Katherine. From the color of the walls to the pillows on the couch, he doubted Stefan had had anything to do with any of it. It didn't surprise him, though. Katherine loved to get her way. A flash of those eyes with a dash of a pout and Stefan melted in her hands like that. Total sucker.

"How've you been, Damon? I haven't seen you in...damn. Months, I suppose." Stefan leaned back in the wingback chair, relaxing. God, Damon missed his chairs like that. He missed his penthouse that was all of this. More than two bedrooms and a bath and a dingy kitchen with a stove that worked when it wanted to. His apartment that was decorated with things like what were here in his brother's home. His cars. His suits. He could just barely touch it all.

"I've been better," Damon mumbled in all truth, gladly welcoming the bitter black liquid in his mug as his attention shifted back to the now. The alcohol was more soothing than the coffee.

"Where's Elena? I haven't seen her in near as long as you." Fuck. Where's a bottle. This little drop in this mug wasn't enough now. He set his drink on the table between them, shaking his head. Here it went.

"Listen, Stefan. You told me back when I first lost my job at the company, that I could come to you if I ever needed anything." Stefan furrowed his brow, interested as he nodded. His brother had his attention.

"I did. And I meant it." He spoke solidly, hoping to reassure him.

"I know. And I'm going to have to take you up on your offer."

"I meant what I said. I'll help. What is it?" Damon ran a hand down his face and inhaled.

"A couple of months ago, I ran out of money. I invested it in the stock market and it screwed me over. I got Elena's loan almost paid off, I had to pay taxes. Bills. Credit cards. All of that. But we're still paying bills. Just normal bills. And there's still some of her loan. And the loans I took out that I need to pay back." Stefan's lips pressed into a line. His brother was very independent. If he'd taken out loans elsewhere, he knew it'd been a blow to his ego. And it took a lot to damage his.

"Damon, if you need money, just ask. How much do you need?" Stefan

"I need a lot. Stefan, I fucked up." He heard his own voice crack as he spoke. Katherine, perched on the arm of Stefan's chair to listen, was intently alert. She'd never seen Damon like this. From the look in his eyes, he was anywhere but here. She was almost scared. The distress he tried to hide in his voice, she picked it up as soon as he spoke. Damon hadn't changed much over the years, and he was one of the most positive guys she knew. Besides Stefan. But now, as she watched his gaze dip from the coffee on the table to her and her husband, she knew something was far wrong. It wasn't like Damon to be stressed. Propping himself on his knees, Stefan gazed intently at the man across from him.

But before he could give his brother a comforting word, Katherine swung in.

"What's wrong, Damon? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can help you." Damon was strung. He knew they would help, but Stefan had already landed him a job. That was more than he could ask for.

"I went to a loan shark and took a loan from him," he dove, not even able to fruit it up any. _Just lay it out_, he thought to himself. "He said I could pay it back in nine months, but it's only been six. I don't have it. He's been bugging me and I've been trying to get it all together, but I just didn't have it." Damon wrenched his eyes shut, so utterly angry with himself for doing something so desperate. And dumb. "He took Elena from me. And I can't get her back unless I have the money." Stefan's jaw fell in surprise.

"They _took _her? Who took her?"

"Some guy named Klaus." A few feet away, Katherine's stomach fell to her feet. Fuck. She was pretty sure it fell straight through to China. This wasn't happening. All these years, and now this was what brought it all out? No way in hell. Without hesitation, she hopped up and disappeared into the study behind them. Neither brother noticed. Still listening intently, she went to the safe.

"For how much?"

"Six thousand."

"Damn it, Damon. Why didn't you come to me?" Like he had to ask. He knew Damon was so damn tight info-wise about his money. He didn't want the bank workers knowing how much he did and didn't have. "I would've gladly given it."

"Are you going to help me or not, Stefan?" Damon growled. He wasn't exactly up for a lecture.

"Call the police." Stefan pulled out the cell phone from his shirt pocket punching in the three digits, but Katherine came back with a manila envelope in her hand. With a swift move, she snatched it from his grasp and shoved the paper thing into Damon's arms.

"Here. That's all of it. And little more for interest." She was shaking, almost unwilling to let her eyes meet his. "Go get her back." Stefan reached out to pull her hand back, but she swatted it away.

"Katherine, we can call the police."

"No, Stefan. We can't. It doesn't work that way." She glared sourly at him, then turned and left the room without another word. Confused, Damon offered the paper package back. Stefan gently pushed it into his arms, shaking his head.

"Take it, Damon. And don't tell me no," he refused lowly, eyes darting to the hall Katherine had disappeared down. He nodded once and reached over, giving him a grateful hug.

In the next room, Katherine was riled up. She paced the room, trying to gather herself before Stefan came in asking questions. Of all the people in the world, she couldn't believe _he _had Elena. And for such a squandering, compared to what he really had!

"God damnit!" she almost screamed, but by the grace of God it came out in a whisper. A few seconds later, Stefan appeared in the room at a complete loss. She was still pacing.

"What's going on?"

"Him, Stefan. _He _has her." She couldn't believe that she'd spent sixteen years hiding her past so well. She'd hid the part about her family from Stefan. But now it was going to come back and kick her in the ass. She'd never wanted to be known by that name again. She never wanted Stefan to know where she'd come from. It was too pathetic for words. And now _this_ was going to ruin it all.

"Who?"  
"Klaus," she hissed.

"Klaus who, Katherine?"  
"Klaus Mikealson." She was on the verge of angry tears. She pressed her hands against her eyes. "Stefan, you're going to hate me when I tell you. I'm so sorry..." It was said barely above a whisper.

"What could you tell me that would make me hate you?" He sat beside her, brushing the hair from her reddening face. He was lost. Her words were just words. He needed more.

"Just...just forget it." She jumped up with a shake of her head. She didn't want to be around anyone. This was a tumbling wall, and she felt like it was about to be crushed from it all. And she couldn't tell him. Not right now. She didn't know how.

"Forget it? Kat, whatever it is, please tell me."

"Can't. I'm going to bed. It-it's late." She paused, wracked her brain for a reason to bolt for the bedroom. "You have work in the morning. I have yoga and shopping and Miss Donovan asked for one of my cakes for her work party on Thursday." Stefan frowned. Was she really doing this?

"It's seven-thirty. You never go to bed before ten and without your glass of wine." His hand slid around the upper part of her arm, gently catching her as she started to walk away. "If you know something about Elena being kidnapped, you need to tell me. Right now, beautiful." She stared at his hand on her for a long moment, then sighed defeatedly, her own squeezing nervously on the curves of her neck.

"Just...can I have a minute? Please. I feel like I can't breathe." Stefan pursed his lips and loosened his already-careful grip, watching as she ghosted up the stairs without another look or word. What the hell was up with her? What did she know that was so god-damned bad? After several long, excrutiating minutes slugged by, Stefan followed her trail upstairs.

When he rounded the corner, Katherine was sat on the bed, garbed in her silky 'nightie' as she called it and a non-matching red silken robe. She was on his side of the bed, knees pulled to her, her mind in a complete other place. It took her a full minute to even realized he'd walked into the room. But he didn't bother her. He just watched her, waiting to see if she'd talk. When her hazel eyes finally did look up to him, she sprung up.

"I said I needed a minute." She sounded a little irritated, but Stefan looked down the the watch he'd shed a near hour ago before he responded.

"It's been nearly thirty." Thirty? Where the hell did they go?

"Oh." She recoiled a little, glancing to the 700 thread-count sheets that were so crisply clean.

"You know something, don't you, baby?" Stefan tried not to accuse, but he what else was there to do? She was acting like some paranoid skit-zo.

"No," Kat shook her head. "It's just that she's my friend, Stefan. I want her out." But Stefan knew it was more than that. The way she fidgeted with her hands, playing with them and wrenching her palms every once in a while like they were asleep; it was something she only did when she was nervous or worried or both. The last time he'd seen her do it, it was some of the best news of his life. This time, however, wasn't the case.

"Just please, let it go," mumbled Katherine strong, but with that flat, irritated sound she gave as a hint to fuck off. In a glint of her red robe, she disappeared into the bathroom, signifying her exit with a sharp snap of the wooden door as it closed.

For years, Katherine held this secret. She didn't want anyone to know – the "anyone" mainly being the Salvatores. Guiseppe was such a stereotypical jerk, she didn't want it to interfere with the life she finally had. While she knew Stefan would never judge her for it, she'd kept it from him early one, unsure of how Guiseppe worked. Would he ask about her? And when he did, Stefan would have no answers. But she had them all, and they were ugly. She knew Guiseppe now. He was an off-the-boat Italian, and he took pride in the family name and he worked to uphold its reputation. That old-fashioned frame of mind scared Katherine. Where she came from, she was one Guiseppe would shun. And if it came down to it, he would even possibly shun his own son from the family, and she couldn't let him go through something as humiliating as that, even if they were in the 21st century. Stefan still had family in 'the old country,' as his father called it, some of which he was very close to. She wouldn't be able to live with knowing she caused a family to break apart. Especially since it was the first real one she'd ever had. And as the years passed, Kat would debate on telling her husband about her roots. He really knew very little about the real past-life that haunted her. She'd left her explanation of it at simply that her parents and she didn't talk, and probably never would again, which was utmostly true. It'd become increasingly easier to just put the Katherine Mikaelson reality in a box and hide it away instead of telling Stefan. But now a simple mishap had nearly brought it all to light, and it wouldn't be long before her secret was out. In her mind, she prayed when she did have to tell Stefan, he understood that she really did do it for his benefit—their benefit. Knowing her own background was shameful enough. She didn't need her own husband, not necessarily thinking the same of her past, but pitying her for it. She didn't pity herself. No one else should.

Outside the door, she heard Stefan's calm, cool voice- the one he always used when he tried to reason with her. He was being patient, as he always was. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing not her, but her fifteen year-old self. Her lost self. For a moment, her lungs forgot to move.

"Hey, Katherine? Come out, honey. Please?" Kat's eyes tore from the mirror to the door, her gut clenching. _He'd wait there forever if I'd let him,_ she thought sadly. Slowly, she pulled open the door. He was leaned against the frame, arms crossed. His head rose as she came out, but he stayed silent, those beautiful green orbs of his just watching, waiting. There was a too long silence between them as she wondered where to start.

"You know you can tell me, whatever it is," Stefan murmured lowly. Kat gave a half-smile and took his hand, leading him to the bed where they both sat down.

"I know," she nodded, lightly stroking his knuckles, "but what I'm going to tell you, Stefan, I never wanted to tell. Not just you, but anyone. I don't like this part of me, and I left it so long ago." His brow puckered, confused.

"Left what?" She took a breath.

"My life. Before I met you, met Damon. Before I moved to the PS where you thought I went. God. My name's not even Katherine Pierce." She was already choking. Shit.

"What?" Stefan frowned at her, lost.

"I know I never told you about my parents. That we're just assholes to each other, and we don't talk. That's not true. Well, it is. We don't talk. But I don't have anything to do with them. I haven't seen them for sixteen years. Hell, I didn't hardly talk to them before then."

"Katherine, you're rambling."

"Stefan, the man who took Elena is my brother," she finally just spat, pressing her fingers into her temples. "Klaus. Klaus Mikaelson. He's my brother." Stefan gaped at her for a few moments.

"The Mikaelsons are the shittiest people in the city. You can't tell me you're really related to them."

"I am! Okay?! I am! My mother is Esther, my father is Mikael! I'm a fucking Mikaelson!" It just all rushed out, like a river breaking a dam.  
"Whoa whoa whoa. Kat..."

"No, Stefan. I should've told you. A fucking millenia ago. I just couldn't. Those people..." She was shaking, but he held his hands on her, trying to calm her down. "I'm sorry." He shook his head, watching her closely. A tear welled at the brim of her lashes.

"Will you tell me? Everything?" he asked, gently brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He suddenly wondered how much he actually knew his wife. If what she was hiding was something more serious than it seemed.

"Please don't make me. Not right now," she begged. Her voice all but shattered as she looked up to him. It made Stefan's heart hurt to see her so upset. So in a silent answer, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and pulled her tiny frame into his arms and closer to him.


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: Sorry I haven't updated lately! It's finals and I've been studying and doing last moment things among trying to get moved out of my dorm. Crazy that the semester is over already, but I'm excited to be moving to the beach soon to hopefully get my dream to happen! (I'm going to study acting and screenwriting. ON THE BEACH! It can't get any better. :D) Thanks for your patience. Here's my new chapter. Enjoy!**_

Elena sat silently in the back seat of the car. It stunk of cigarettes tobacco and the two men chomping cigars in the seats before her only made it worse. They didn't pay her any attention; an occasional glance through the rear-view mirror, but that was it. They had a raucous conversation about the Mets and the Yankees, then somewhere between Manhattan and the Bronx it shifted over to the Giants and the latest draftee they'd acquired. None of which Elena understood. She heard names and some statistical numbers, and that only jumbled her thoughts more. She blocked them out instead, turning her thoughts to Damon and what he was doing. She knew he was a high-strung mess, doing everything he possibly could to get her back. Klaus had been talking to him on the phone about money. He owed him, unquestionably. She didn't understand why Damon had gone to somewhere so dark for money. Actually, she did. He hated her having to work where she did. She knew that. Night after night he asked her how her day had gone. Sometimes it was nice. She'd actually go a day once in a while where she didn't feel like white trash. Where stocking the shelves with overpriced, fattening food on a shelf was actually okay. But in the back of her mind, she knew when this all had begun. She had laid out a teeming number of applications that one night and he'd flipped through them, seeing where they all were. His mood made a shift in that moment, and the next day the papers were gone. She'd never thought about it. He'd done it before, when this all started. And it wasn't that he didn't want her to work. He'd told her. He didn't want her to work in _those _places. But the second time it was different, and she'd stupidly looked past it.

The vehicle came to a slow stop. They were in an industrial district somewhere in the outskirts of the city. Through the window, Elena could see that they were parked in front of a gray warehouse. It wasn't huge. Maybe large enough to hold a crop duster plane. It was dark, and if it weren't for the light in the window of the door, Elena would have taken it for abandoned. Both the men got out and opened the door, one taking her by the arm to lead her inside.

"What's here?" Voice gaining some stability since initially being snatched up, she glanced around the dank edifice. It'd been hours. Hell, days for what she knew. She'd long lost track of time.

"You're staying here til you're paid for, sweetlips," the taller of the two spoke. His accent was thick. Bostonian. A smirk quirked at the corners of his mouth. "After that, it'll be fair game." Elena blinked. What the hell was that supposed to mean? The man's pal pulled open the bolted door to a train car, then gestured her inside. Elena stared blankly before looking him.

"What?" She rose a brow.

"In."

"_Excuse me?_" But obviously she was in no position to question. The next moment her feet left the ground by two bony hands and set inside, her eyes locked on the darkened innerds of the car. She hated the dark.

"In," he repeated with a lackluster of emotion.

"Are you crazy? You can't leave me in here!"

"Can, and will. You'll be fine. Just a couple hours till Klaus decides what he's gonna do witch ya." A metallic squeal echoed through the train car as the door was closed, leaving Elena in the black. Frozen with shock, she didn't move for several moments, her feet melded to the floor beneath her. The only light was what barely seeped through the heavy doors, but soon those daylight rays were gone when the door came to a slam against the facing.

"Hey. Hey! Come back!" She slapped her palms against the cold door relentlessly. She had a small fraction of hope they were just screwing around with her, but those hopes weren't being upheld. Before too long, Elena's palm was numb with a mixture of cold and slapping, and she could only lie her head against the wall in exhaustion. Every muscle she had was screaming for relief, for rest. So tired, in fact, they let a sob fall from her dried lips- one she'd been keeping in since she last saw Damon. God. What was going to happen to her? Die? Surely Klaus wouldn't do that. It was too extreme. What she thought was an icy chill ran across her arm. Welcoming it, she let it flow over her skin, flushing the heat that had accumulated from her screaming efforts. But when reached to touch it, she realized how horrifyingly cold she really was. Because her chill wasn't a a chill. It was a hand, cold like the benches of the subways in the coldest of December, if not more. She grabbed at it, trying to pull the frosty digits from around her forearm as they tightened in response. Squirming, she pushed away and back towards the corner because, where else was there to go? But the hand was snug on its grip. She only slid against the metal floor. Elena thought that if it was in her, she could possibly muster up one good blood-curdling scream. Someone would hear it somewhere, if she did it loud enough. But before she could open her mouth, there was a tiny spark and a lighter flamed up to illuminate the face at the other end of the hand.

It was a woman, a long finger pressed to a pair of pouty lips that, painted with a hue of red, would make her wholly mock a pinup woman. Tufts of white-blonde hair spilled out from a green-spotted bandanna that was tied beneath her chin. Her eyes, filled with concern, were like crystals stained with a hue of silver gray and set into her round face just so. She looked just like a china doll.

"Please. Do not be afraid. I won't hurt you." Slowly she let Elena's arm go. With her other hand she picked up a lantern, and she pressed the orange flame of the lighter to the wick. A short burst exploded and the front half of the train car was engulfed in warm light. Elena's eyes weren't quite so strained anymore.

"I am Rebekah."

"Why are you here? Here in this car?" Frightened, the woman noted, shaking her head.

"Calm down. Please. I don't want to cause you harm," Rebekah recurred, pulling the latest member of the car to her feet.

"Just tell me. Is it Klaus? Your husbands? Or someone? Did they take money?" Elena knew she was rambling, but she was still trembling from being grabbed in the dark by something cold. A horror movie in a way-to-real context. Rebekah's nose scrunched in thought, then she shook her head.

"We don't know. We're all just here." Elena blinked.

"'We?'"

"Yes. We. We are all here from different places."

"Different places. Like countries?"

Rebekah nodded and pointed the lantern towards the back of the car. She sputtered something in a second language Elena had never heard, and as soon as her mouth closed, what sounded like feet shuffled against the slick metal floor.

"Most of these women," she nodded to the sounds reassuringly as the faces of diversified women edged forward, "are from my home country. Russia." Elena's eyes widened.

"Russia," she repeated, and again the blonde woman nodded.

"We are here for a better life." There was no more she had to say. Russia was a rough country for a woman to live. Prostitution is neither legal nor illegal. Human trafficking was an everyday thing. She couldn't imagine. Anything was a better life than that.

"Will you tell us your name?" Rebekah looked hopeful, like Elena might be a new friend for her. Elena looked to her. She seemed the brightest of all of these prisoners, even seeing past being locked in a train car in the middle of where, she didn't know, and putting a smile on her face. Elena couldn't meet such a smile, but nevertheless she tried.

"Elena."

"Where are you from?" Her question made Elena balk. She didn't know if she could tell them. Not that she cared that they knew, but that if she told them, it'd be something horrible. They'd come to America to be free, and if it was going like she thought it was, they were anything but. They were headed towards exactly what they were running from.

"I'm from New York," Elena breathed, seeing Rebekah's face light up. The others just stared. None of them knew how to speak the language.  
"You do not understand how exciting this is! I've wanted to go to your country every since I was a tiny girl with curly pigtails." Her joy made Elena want to hide.

"There are places to sit in the back. Where you can sleep. Although I guess it is daytime, you don't need sleep quite soon."

The truth was, Elena did need sleep. She'd done nothing but take a multitude naps, which is why she really didn't know what day it was. She'd been tired when Damon had taken her to dinner. She'd stayed awake the best she could for hours in a bedroom, staring at a door as she waited for someone to tell her Damon was here. She had nodded once or twice, she remembered, but had no clue how long she'd been out. Then there was the phone call, and right after she was taken all the way across the city to meet these new people.

When she sank onto the floor of the car, Elena felt her muscles relax for the first time in ages. All around her the other women snapped out blankets and laid down for a night's rest. She couldn't help but watch. All of them were beautiful. Some were older, in their mid-thirties. Most were young, while the one so Elena guessed, to be around fifteen. They all rattled off to each other in that brutish-sounding tongue as they laid down and made their nests. Some of them spoke to Elena, but she could only give a soft smile. They seemed to understand it either way.

"We'll be out of here soon," Rebekah spoke from behind her as she fluffed out her flat bed. "Don't worry." Elena smiled. Almost.

"I can only hope." It was quiet for several minutes until a voice she didn't know could come from Rebekah sounded behind her. Small. Sad.

"We're in America, aren't we?" Elena almost couldn't face her.

"We are."

"America is supposed to be happy. This isn't happy."

_America isn't all it's cracked up to be, _she wanted to say, but saying that to her would crush the childhood dream she had so close to her.

"We'll be out of here soon," she tossed back, hoping her own words would console her. It gave her a tiny smile.

"That's what I say to you." Elena laughed a little.

"It's nice to hear." Rebekah reached over, touching the top of Elena's hand with her own. It still felt like ice. She wished she had a pair of gloves to give her.

"You are married?!" she gasped, seeing the diamond ring and wedding bands sitting on her finger. It was all Elena had left of her old life except. But she had Damon. That's all she cared about. "Where is your hus-bond? Is he not worried?" Elena shook her head, knowing all to well he'd paced a hole to China by now.

"He's coming to get me. I know it."

"Why are you here? Is it the mafia?" Rebekah was intrigued and she kept digging. It slightly bothered Elena, but she was sure the girl wasn't really aware she was going a little far.

"No no. It's money. Damon, my husband. He borrowed some and they just want it back. He'll get it. Somewhere." Damon was pissy about asking for help. It was a last resort for him.

"He put you at risk? That is not very husb-ond like of him." Rebekah's brow was furrowed in the most delicate way as she questioned Elena. "Or at least what I think a husb-ond should be."

"He didn't mean to." Elena gave a somewhat smile. This girl looked barely into her twenties, but a woman all the same. The way she acted was leading Elena to believe she was sheltered. Being that she was from Russia, she couldn't blame her parents if she was. "He's the best thing I could ask for. But no one's perfect. I don't expect him to be," she finished, curling a fluffy quilt around her shoulders and settling into the pallet Rebekah had made for her. It was hard. Cold. The temperature dropped several degrees. There was no doubt it was nightfall. God. What she'd give for a watch right now. As she started to drift, her mind prattled with a multitude of thoughts, her first being of Damon. All that she could see was him knocked cold in the alley next to RuSha, a gash across his temple and rain starting to pour as she was drug away. She was just second from sleep when her stomach rolled loud and woke her, almost sounding like thunder. Those crawfish and clam strips sounded better now than they had at RuSha. And these days she was turning hungry all the time. Her hand rested gently on her stomach as she swallowed down her hunger. For years it'd been hard with a sheet of muscle she'd worked to keep fit with twists and bends, but now it was different. Her fingers lightly prodded the skin, this sensation so new to her. This was no time to be here. Not now.

"Please, Damon," she whispered, shutting her eyes a last time before finally falling into unconsciousness. It was all she knew to think. "Please come get me...us."


End file.
